


Disastress

by frustratedFreeboota



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Costumes, F/F, Handholding, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Superpowers, Supervillains, Transformation Sequence, Villains, wildbow, worm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frustratedFreeboota/pseuds/frustratedFreeboota
Summary: A while ago this ship ended up being a thing in a forum quest I ran starring Damsel of Distress. Damsel's characterisation will seem pretty silly if you've read any Ward but before that came out the most we had with her was two clones of her comforting each other, a few lines from a young clone of her, her death, and an offscreen mention. Well, that and a load of Word of Author on her and her town and her pretty sad backstory. So I wrote some stuff with her a while back. (https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/distress-quest-worm-quest-prepost-canon.517933/) Twice! (https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/audacity-damsels-quest-of-distress.534397/)Disaster Area was a character from the drafts of Worm that's sorta kinda got Damsel's powers, only not really? They're pretty similar. They were going to be rivals in the second quest I ran but votes had her instead taking the insults as some sort of flirting, and eventually the ship became a thing. It was kinda cute. Kinda silly.Anyway! Disastress. A late night meet and some silly magical girl esque stuff!





	Disastress

They agree to meet as any two people would. A deserted alleyway, water dripping from the ladders of fire escapes. There was a romantic allure to the scene, a taste of the dramatic that the two were so fond of.

It's Red's turn to wait, counting the seconds and then the minutes past the hour until black arrives. She slides the sleeve of her oversized coat back, checking the time on her watch for the tenth time since she got here, precisely ten minutes early. Another check of her phone. No new messages, but red wasn't expecting any from her. A message pops up in the second before she puts it away, but its just another email that someone was stupid enough to click "reply to all" on.

Another minute, and Black rounds the edge of the alleyway. Boyish in the lines of her face, and the cut of her jeans, and the bagginess of the coat she wears to keep the rain off. Disguised, but definitely her. Raindrops fall from the edge of her baseball cap, tilted just so to keep her eyes out of view.

"Today's been a complete disaster," Red says, pulling her hood away from her face. Her disobedient curls are freed from their confines, stray ones sticking out at whatever angle they can, the majority tied back into a ponytail. A smile appears on her lips. Not a big smile. A small one, subtle and professional.

"How distressing." Black replies, her gaunt face hatching into a grin. The code phrases had been her idea, after all. She removes her baseball cap, an excess of white hair spilling out, falling across her back and down her shoulders.

"Dresses or plainclothes?" the one in the red coat asks. She doesn't particularly care herself. She knows she'll be kissing Damsel of Distress either way, the fair Ms Stillons is hardly a civil civilian. Its simply a matter of whether Ashley wants to be seen with mild mannered Melanie Fitts, or the proud and fitful Disaster Area.

"Dresses." Black says. Disaster Area it is.

"Are you wearing my present?" Red asks, and Black nods slowly, a sort of fluttery warmth seeming to spread through her despite the chilly air.

"Good." Red says plainly. She raises a hand to her face, another reaching into her coat pocket for the little plastic case for her contact lenses. She slides the dull white lenses out with a minimum of fiddling, and hands the expensive props over for safekeeping. Another hand reaches through another pocket, retrieving the classic domino of her mask. A little elastic band secures it in place, and then she's free to look her girlfriend in the eye. Brilliant cerulean orbs, irridiscent and glittering, bright enough to be see their reflection in Distress'. There's nothing special about Distress' eyes. They aren't some crystal ball, but they're something that Disaster can see her future in all the same.

There's a beautiful little crackle as her gloves disappear, hands freeing themselves with a flickering blue and red glare. Distress' face is lit up, the glow playing across her face as it twists itself into the same giddy expression she always wears when Disaster does this for her. Melanie Fitts would think that it was a waste of perfectly good clothes. Disaster Area is just happy to be free.

She closes her eyes, and with rehearsed motions she cleans herself off. Each hand begins at the wrist and sweeps its way to the shoulder, blasting away the coat, Disaster's costume erupting from the ashes. A hand goes to the top of each thigh, and lets a disaster blast slide down in a wave that scours her trousers and wears her shoes away into dust. Red and blue accents and layers of frills at the skirt and the edge of her sleeves poof out like a flower in bloom, revealing only hints of the skintight suit beneath. Her hands come together, folded as if she was being placed in a coffin, and she presses the alternating electric blue and fiery red of her hands to her chest, completing the pose, letting the energy slowly fade. 

She opens her eyes, and looks up into Distress'. Her partner's pale face is filled with a childlike wonder.

"Give me your hands." Disaster says, reaching out.

Distress panics for a moment, just a moment, before she remembers who she's with. And then the two have their hands pressed together, an armspan apart from each other, rain pitting and patting off of Disaster Area's frills, and they hold that pose. Anyone could kiss Distress, but this, this little bit of casual contact, without the fear of destruction? Disaster could imagine that it was even more intimate.

Disaster's hands sparked, Manton limited lightning dancing over and around Distress' wrists, tearing apart the edge of her sleeves. Her hands moved from palm to shoulder, revealing inch after inch of skin untouched by sunlight. She pauses, hands hovering above her partner's shoulders, little sparks and arcs reaching out to caress Distress before a flick of her wrists strips her from shoulder to toe. The air is thick with the smell of burnt plastic and frayed denim, and Disaster steps back to let the literal and metaphorical smoke clear. Her partner stands in a simple black dress in the same fabric as Disaster's, making a tentative step to the left, and then the right, watching the swish at the bottom as she seems to glide from one spot to the next. A brief spin on the spot, and she's staring Disaster in the eye again.

Distress extends a hand, and Disaster takes it, a moment's hesitation before their fingers intertwine. Predictably enough, just as anything good is about to happen to the poor girl, Distress' power sparks, with a force that nearly takes her from her feet. Disaster holds tight, the air around her hands still rearranging itself. Her skin is poked and prodded and lightly singed by heated air and a crackle of lightning, but her hand is unharmed, the frill at the edge of her sleeve the only casualty of the blast. She waits for Distress to ride out the tide of anger and frustration that accompanies any little accident like this, and the two realise how they're standing. One hand together, Distress on her back foot. The two could be in the middle of a dance.

With a tug of her hand, Disaster pulls her partner into another twirl.


End file.
